


Dinner

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [163]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food, Gen, Hunt, Outsider Perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Call her old fashioned, but when she makes someone dinner, she kind of expects them to actually eat it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This is another piece from Tumblr.
> 
> Sam doesn't eat for unexplained reasons. It's told from an outsiders POV.

“You gonna eat that?” she asks, looking at the big guy across her dinner table who is steadily ignoring his plate of food and instead on his laptop.

Maybe it’s irrational–the guy _did_ save her from a damn ghost or whatever the hell it was already today–but she gets this feeling that, if she bothers to make food for someone, they damn well better eat it.

It’s not like it’s gourmet or anything, she’s not fucking Master Chef, but it’s not bad. She’s eating it just fine, thank you, and this guy could stand to eat a few bites.

He’s built like a fucking brick wall and looks like he exerted a fair amount of energy saving her ass, too, so she doesn’t understand why he’s not hungry. He should be. He should be begging for seconds.

He looks up from his laptop. “Huh?”

“The food,” she says. “Aren’t you going to eat it?”

He looks at his plate for half a second then looks back at his laptop. “Thanks,” he says. “But no time. Gotta find this grave for Dean if we don’t want a reappearance.”

She shudders a little at that, because okay, she gets it, loud and clear. She can go the rest of her life without seeing the ghost of the guy who apparently lived her thirty years ago ever again.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get that wish. It takes five minutes for the ghost to come back, and the leftovers of her meal get abandoned while she cowers behind him. He chases the ghost down with a crowbar, keeps fighting it off until it disappears in a puff of rough smoke and small flame.

They’re both breathing heavily when it’s done. She’s not even sure if it’s over, but he relaxes a bit, so she supposes it must be. He doesn’t seem like the type to relax until the job is entirely done.

“Dinner now?” she asks, mechanically moving to the table and the two plates there, picking them up so she can reheat them, so she can watch them spin in the microwave instead of thinking about what she just saw, what she now knows is out there.

He smiles at her. “Thanks,” he says. So she reheats her food, and sets it back on the table, gesturing for him to sit down.

He picks up a fork this time, which is progress, but that’s about as far as he makes it. He pokes at the cauliflower a time or two, but doesn’t move a bite to his mouth.

Then a horn sounds outside and he’s out of his seat in a flash. “Gotta go,” he says. “Stay safe. Thanks for the food.”

She’s left with her mouth hanging open–he hadn’t eaten anything, he doesn’t get to thank her for food he didn’t eat–but he’s out the door and gone, leaving behind the mess of her house and a full plate of food.


End file.
